


Let Me Be the One

by hato



Series: Hustle [3]
Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every second Thursday. That's the arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be the One

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Rosemary Sutcliffe. OCs are my fault.  
>  **Warnings:** Sex, swearing, angst, etc.  
>  **A/N:** Again, posted on eljay nearly two years ago. A continuation of the Hustle AU that caught my fancy at the time.  
>  **Inspired by:** _Smother Me_ by The Used.

**Thursday Afternoon**  
  
It's always rough and tumble. The first time.  
  
Second Thursday of each month. A different inn. This one in West Yorkshire. A small one with rooms at the back, hidden from the road. Lilac bushes overgrown and fragrant. They take turns securing the rooms each month. Esca's turn this time. He's waiting on the other side of the door when Marcus slides the key (an actual for goodness metal key) into the lock and opens the paint scratched door. Two hands. Bag thrown into the corner. Door slams behind them. A deep breath and the whole place reeks of stale cigarettes, fresh Chinese take-away and sex. Esca refuses to let go.  
  
Marcus is dressed for this. Prepared. Suit hanging in his car, covered in plastic after his visit to the family's brewery in the nearby town. So it's okay when the faded green jumper and ratty jeans are practically torn from his body. Esca rips one seam on the shoulder of the jumper as he pulls it over Marcus' head. Mouth right back on mouth. Hard and wet.  
  
It's not until Marcus gets his hands free and slips them around the smaller body that he realizes that the younger man is completely bare. Hot skin. Smooth. Slightly raised scars and an unnatural softness along the lines of ink. Marcus knows these lines by heart, maps them with his eyes closed. With fingers, lips, tongue. The thought of Esca waiting for him in this rented room, for at least an hour now, has him even harder than the dirty text messages the man has been sending him since 8  this morning. Marcus had kept his suit jacket fully buttoned during his meetings, despite the humid heat of the day. Crossed his legs more than once.  
  
The telly is on, background noise of local weather and cable service ads. Marcus reaches to the side to grab the remote from the horrid wooden dresser, turn the volume up a few notches. They'll need the extra noise.  
  
Esca is on the floor, on his knees, at his feet. Marcus flinches at the jerk to his ankle. Fine Italian boot yanked from one foot, then the other. Apology in the form of a soft kiss on the top of an instep. Esca's body bowed, lean muscles and tight lines and fuck but Marcus can feel the clear fluid beading from his tip and dripping onto the back of the younger man's neck. Esca turns a smirk upward. Bounces to his feet. Pressing against Marcus once more.  
  
Marcus pushes one hand down the curve of Esca's back to his arse. Palm on cheek, squeezing and lifting the younger man off his feet. Esca continues to work his hands at the buttons on Marcus' jeans, awkwardly hunched over in the embrace.  
  
Smirks and chuckles. Soft crass comments. The heated quickie the week before has taken some of the edge off. Normally, this time is spent battling it out against the wall until they are both sated and bruised and at least one count of property damage committed before they collapse. But now, a few moments are given to light heartedness. Amusement. Enjoyment. A small tickle over Marcus' navel. A gentle pinch on Esca's arse. Laughter as they play-fight each other for dominance and first touches. Sparring, as opposed to battling.  
  
The denim parts and Esca still moves his hands to work the material down until Marcus is forced to set him on his feet or drop him. Esca makes a crack about the man's advanced age and lack of balance. Marcus flicks a prominent ear and makes an observation involving the other's submissive position and lack of finesse. Edge of teeth across his pants. Fingers twisting in the dark ash hair. Exchange of challenging looks.  
  
Esca is the first to break away, head pulling back as his hands jerk on the blue jeans and tan pants underneath. Graceful, despite nearly falling backwards when Marcus gives easily under the pressure. Shuffling. Shift of feet and the bottoms are thrown who cares where. Light brush of fingertips across the scar.  
  
The older man retaliates by bending down, hauling Esca up. Tossing, falling, sprawling on the bed with its faux patchwork quilt. Feet at the headboard. Rubbing together in a mass of limbs and gaudy bedclothes. Marcus gets a hand around their cocks. Squeezing so hard. Drawing up and down. Esca adds his own hand and manages to slide a fingertip under the other's foreskin. Shudder in reply. Marcus bucks, tenses, thrusts harder against the smaller body and hopes the bed isn't as decrepit as the rest of the room's decor.  
  
Esca arches beneath him, eyes closed, mouth open. Laughing between the harsh panting. Grey eyes hazy. Lust. Passion. A mouthful of spit swiped on a hand, pushing between them and slick. Up and down. Up and down. Twist of hips. Jerk of a foot that crashes into the lamp on the nightstand. Barely a pause. Rough chuckle. Unsteady rhythm instantly re-established. Marcus groans low as Esca's blunt fingernail scrapes over the slit of his prick, thumb slipping in the pre-cum and working the foreskin down with the same amount of determination as his jeans earlier. Slight tug over the head. Gasp and choke. He pushes his own thumb over Esca's smoothly shaped prick, the thin line of a scar near the base that Esca still won't tell him the origin of.  
  
The telly adverts fade away and some obscure music video fills the room with indie frustration.  
  
At moments like this, Marcus utterly hates the difference in their heights. He breaks the kiss and lines their hips together, instead. Balls, cocks, hands all in alignment. The extra sensation is noticeable with the change in position. The short, dark hairs scratch the back of his hand. Sweaty, slippery, softening, though he knows the skin will still be red and irritated from the friction.  
  
He can't see anything but the ugly bedspread and Esca's hair and a tiny patch of flushed temple and even that is blacked out as he feels the tightening in his belly. Eyes scrunched, lips barely touching the top part of Esca's ear. Esca's hot breath gasping against his neck, stubble scraping the underside of his jaw, hand clawing at his back.  
  
Tight. Hot. Jerking. Wet spilling everywhere.  
  
Low keen, animalistic. Marcus is aware he's making that pathetic noise. Is aware of Esca grunting, muffled, teeth set into Marcus' shoulder so he won't scream. The sounds synchronize with the stuttering of their bodies.  
  
Tremble and shake.  
  
Spurt. Slide. Whimper.  
  
Tentative stillness.  
  
Marcus exhales. Deep and slow. Inhales the same. Breath back in his body now that there's room for it. The teeth come away and Esca licks the spot once. Kisses it twice, before letting his head drop back to the bed where he can more easily suck air back into his own body. Grey eyes hidden behind the light colored lashes. Not that Marcus can see his face, but he knows. He knows.  
  
He knows he's heavy and Esca needs to breathe and wants a cigarette. Esca always wants a cigarette. Marcus moves his hand, flinches and makes another small noise at the stimulation. Their fingers are laced together around their softening cocks. It seems oddly intimate to Marcus, for such a vulgar act. Chuckle and groan. He shifts to the side and-  
  
Esca tightens his fingers. The ones between them. Away from the sticky, wilting flesh. Grips. Clutches. Rests together on a sticky hip.  
  
The ones on his back, splaying over darkened skin. Holding on to Marcus, entire body too tense for afterglow. Still can't see those grey eyes. Just the sweaty hair, the perfect curve of his upper ear. Listens to the puff of embarrassed laughter.  
  
Marcus nods. Nose sliding, brushing against Esca's ear. Understands.  
  
Tension gone. The body beneath him falling slack as a deflated balloon. Marcus deflates, as well. Sinking into soft hair and strong body and ugly bedspread to sleep.  
  
Because when they wake up they'll shower and eat the cold Chinese food and Esca will smoke like a chimney and Marcus will check in with his office.  
  
And then they'll eat up the evening hours breaking each other, soft and slow.

* * *

  
**Thursday Evening**  
  
The second time is always a bit slower.  
  
Late in the evening. Watching the local news on the ancient television set, the cable box under it completely incongruous with its quaint surroundings. As usual in such a small village, there is absolutely nothing of import or interest going on and the two men spend their time lounging against each other in bed. Poking fun at the anchors who are trying so hard to sound urbane.  
  
Esca smiles down at Marcus, the dark head resting just below his left nipple. Freshly washed. Fed and watered. Chewing gum to rid Marcus’ mouth of the taste of Kung Pao Chicken. Benson  & Hedges has already obliterated the pork lo mein from Esca's tongue, third stick casually balanced between loose lips. Light grey wisps curling around his head.  
  
A shaded lamp on the nightstand- only slightly cracked- washes the whole room in a dirty yellow light. Sallow tint to Marcus' dark skin. Jaundiced look to his own pale complexion. Esca looks down at the other man, raises a hand to smooth the brown cowlicks. Marcus' arm is thrown over the smaller body. Elbow bent. Hand curving slightly along Esca's side. Protective embrace.  
  
Heavy smoke taken in, released. Cigarette carefully taken away and stubbed out in a take-away container on the floor. Faint scent of blackened noodles.  
  
Esca remains still. For just a moment. Then he's slowly rolling, shifting, slipping out from underneath Marcus, much to the older man's dismay. A few disgruntled noises. Esca smothers them in an easy kiss once he reaches those frowning lips.  
The gum is quickly sucked into his own mouth. Spit over the side of the bed. Esca hopes it doesn't get ground into the carpet because clean-up fees suck. Secondary thoughts. He kisses Marcus again, fingers carding into the damp hair and holding the larger head in place on the pillow. Exerting control.  
  
 _Let me take care of you..._  
  
Esca enjoys doing this. Giving back the tenderness he finds so difficult to display even when they are alone. Giving Marcus the chance to open himself up, make himself vulnerable. To stop holding himself so tightly reined in his knuckles turn white with the effort. Esca wants to give Marcus that feeling of total abandon.  
  
Freedom.  
  
Just as Marcus gives Esca the opportunity to accept tenderness, gentle touches amidst the heated couplings. Lets Esca be small and weak and overpowered and be admired for it. He knows Marcus wants to give him that feeling of complete safety.  
  
Surrender.  
  
Different reasons. Different word. Same emotion.  
  
He lets go of Marcus' hair, moves his hand down to stroke lightly against the side of the strong neck. Soft gasp and moan. Green eyes fluttering, closing. Tilt of chin to expose more of the sensitive area to Esca's ministrations. A kiss. A hint of teeth where it can be hidden behind a collar. Marcus grunts quietly and Esca smiles and the television drones on unheeded.  
  
The younger man sneaks a hand over the side of the bed. Half empty tube on the nightstand. Slightly sticky around the top. They've used this one a few times already, but there's enough to last until tomorrow.  
  
And if they do run out, well, Esca has complete faith in their improvisational skills.  
  
Esca sucks on each nipple, pulling tight flesh into rosy peaks. Licks to soothe the sting. Slow and easy motions. Well practiced. Like the careful touches sweeping lower still, brushing down Marcus' ribs and belly and hip and finally settling on the heavy scarring of his right thigh. Firm touches here, rubbing, stroking, massaging. He can feel the muscles twitching beneath the wrecked skin. An extra sensitive spot. A sweet weakness to exploit.  
  
Groan, whimper. Esca loves those noises. Loves the slight tension of the older man's arching back, pushing into the disheveled sheets as his uninjured leg bends and stretches with the stimulation. Squirming with an elegance that Esca finds both glorious and obscene. And completely arousing. He almost forgets the tube in his hand, dragging it down Marcus' side, leaving a thin trail of shiny goo.  
  
Belly button. Esca won't pass it up. Tongue, then pointed canine tugging on the dimple. Sucking until Marcus is convulsing and gasping with ticklish laughter. Another weakness Esca is happy to take advantage of.  
  
Down down down. Always moving down and looking up at Marcus. Esca doesn't mind. For the most part. He knows he'll get his turn soon enough, to look down into those hazy green eyes looking up at him.  
  
For now, Esca settles himself stomach-down on the bed between the well muscled thighs. He pushes an arm under the one at his left, curling it around and flattening his palm against the swathe of scarring. He can still feel the random spasms.  
Top taken between teeth, twisted off. It's spit over the side of the bed, as well. Esca hopes it lands in the gum so he can find it later. He takes a deep breath of warm, musk-heavy air and pushes his face into the pale line of Marcus' groin crease. Marcus' breath catches, his leg jerking in reaction.  
  
Grey eyes close. Feeling his way. Giving Marcus the opportunity to watch without being watched. Esca nuzzles and scrapes his teeth across the satiny skin until his mouth reaches the apex. Stiff length, blood darkened, still partially sheathed. Salt and earth and a hint of that expensive soap Marcus always carries in his bag because the cheap stuff breaks out his oh so sensitive skin. The thought alone causes Esca to crack a grin and he fills his mouth with cock before Marcus can question his amusement.  
  
Tongue. Slipping along the edge of skin, underneath. Lips nudging it further down until it reveals the smooth head and lays in tight folds just behind the crest. Esca licks along a few of the lines with the tip of his tongue, finds the thick vein, traces it all the way back to the patch of dark hair. Lashes barely brushing across Marcus' flat belly. Hips jerk under his mouth.  
  
Esca pulls away long enough to squeeze the tube and eject a messy glob of clear gel on two fingers. Holding at an odd angle to keep the lube from falling off, wasted, onto the bed. Kissing the underside of Marcus' thick cock, dragging his nose against the pliant flesh of the sack below. Teasing.  
  
One shiny finger circles. Presses against the dark pucker. Slides forward into the heat. Esca breathes a sigh as deep as Marcus. He moves it around to distribute the gel, coat the older man's insides. To feel his insides moving around his finger. Warm. Alive. Tight, as always. Resistance Esca is accustomed to and easily dismisses with a few well mapped drags of the invading finger. Pressure in the right place. Nibble of teeth on an inner thigh. A shudder from Marcus. The knot of muscle relaxes and softens and winks as Esca removes the finger to add more lube. And a second finger.  
  
Process repeated. For an eternity with equal amounts of patience and barely restrained impatience. Esca wants it and Marcus wants it and it's difficult to remember that this is necessary- particularly for the older man- and not to be hurried or half-arsed.  
  
Still, Esca pushes a bit more.  
  
Two fingers twisting and spreading inside. Mouth busy tormenting the flushed prick in a way that makes his own leak profusely on the bed clothes. Esca covers the head and sucks gently, merely teasing. Not willing to risk the man spending in his mouth because Marcus is generally a complete waste after cumming and Esca enjoys a bit more enthusiasm during his fucks.  
  
And he wants to watch Marcus when he loses himself. He can't do that halfway down his body with his eyes mostly closed.  
  
Esca keeps his eyes closed for Marcus' benefit. Knows the older man still has issues with the oral act and doesn't push it. Knows that Marcus usually keeps his own eyes closed, as well. But, occasionally, grey slits peer up and catch slits of green gazing down. Esca always keeps the contact for a brief moment, to challenge Marcus to keep watching, then shields his own eyes once more. To give him that chance.  
  
No exception, now. A meeting of green and grey. Esca flicks his gaze back down just as a big hand rests atop his head, fingers sifting through his hair. Thumb grazing the top of his damaged ear. The heat rises in Esca's cheeks and he pumps his fingers hard, in revenge for the blush.  
  
Deep chuckle. Then a cut off gasp. Fingers tightening in lighter hair.  
  
Esca jerks up, his fingers out. Several of the superfluous pillows are stolen from his side of the bed. One shoved under Marcus' rear, tilting his hips up. Better angle, less strain. Fuck but Esca hates the difference in their heights when he's the one penetrating. A clumsy, awkward and perversely humorous effect no matter the chosen position. The rest of the pillows are placed on his left. Injured leg carefully lowered and settled securely onto the cushioning.  
  
Marcus makes a face and says something about not being a damned girl. Esca tells him to stop being a whinging and to enjoy the fucking solicitude.  
  
They compromise with Marcus' right leg resting on Esca's shoulder, Esca's hand gently but firmly holding the scarred thigh, and both shutting up. Esca knocks the extra pillows to the floor.  
  
More lube, seeping from the nearly empty tube into Esca's open palm before being tossed the way of its cap. Smearing over aching flesh. Prick an angry neglected red. Flinch. He aims it between the perfectly sculpted cheeks, rounded tip pressed tight against the slick hole. The hand on Marcus' thigh tenses and steadies.  
Nudge. Always small, always slow. Creeping inside. Esca's chin dips down but his eyes remain up, watching the older man's reactions. Cherishing each one. Memorizing for the long, inevitable stretch of time apart when they leave this room tomorrow.  
  
Nudge. Marcus arches. Shoulders sinking into the pillow, rear pushing back. Trying to get more. Esca refuses. He holds perfectly still. Messy fingers steadying his cock, preventing more depth. Watching Marcus pant and writhe on the wash worn sheets. He knows Marcus won't beg. Marcus never begs in bed.  
  
Nudge. Nudge. Falter.  
  
Perhaps because Esca is so awful at withholding pleasure for too long.  
  
A few seconds and he leans forward to properly breach the older man's body. Wide head squeezing into the narrow entrance, stopping just inside. There's a small noise from Marcus and Esca turns his head to kiss the calf on his shoulder. It rubs against the scarred edge of his ear. Distant irritation. Marcus isn't doing it on purpose so Esca ignores it and keeps moving his hips and shifting and kissing that long leg until he's hunched over with the front of his hips flush against Marcus' backside. And they're both gritting their teeth.  
  
Esca's turn, now. To look down into those hazy green eyes.  
  
Sticky hand on the blanket, wiping away the worst of it before moving past a splayed leg and curving over Marcus' hip. Fingertips on the outer curve of buttock. Thumb crossing over the sharply carved line of bone and muscle.  
  
He starts slow, like before. In and out. Rock back, then forward. Gliding. Wet drag of flesh on flesh. Friction hiss of skin on cotton. Creaking of antiquated bed springs.  
Marcus' hands clench in the sheets. Grits his teeth as soft grunts and whispery curses encourage the younger man. Esca holds tighter; hand on hip, hand on scar. Rests his cheek against the supported leg. Watching. Thrusting. Swallowing with a dry throat and trying to get another breath of air down at the same time without choking.  
  
Back and forth. In and out. Faster.  
  
He's too hot. Sweat on his forehead, building up between them where their bodies touch. Esca shakes his head, dislodging several drops from his hair. They fall onto Marcus and disappear. Mingling. His thumb swipes through the damp sheen and the pre-cum puddling under the bouncing cock. He grips harder.  
  
Thrust. Thrust. Harder. Slapping together. Leans back and pulls Marcus even closer, practically into his lap. Esca is losing to the heat and rhythm. To the moment. To Marcus and his reactions.  
  
Marcus is making those pretty sounds. Rough and hoarse, bursts of air escaping his mouth seemingly without his consent. Olive skin flushing darker, stretched over flexing muscles and straining tendons. Green eyes barely seen behind heavy lids. Fluttering lashes. A hand leaves the sheets and Esca grins as it wraps around Marcus' length and begins a frantic stroking. The younger man doesn't help. Merely watches the man pleasure himself and times his thrusts to add to the sensations.  
  
Pounding. Hot. Thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Esca forces his eyes to stay open and trained on Marcus. He won't give in yet. Hips already aching. He's hunching forward again, hardly noticed. Leg on his shoulder pressing down toward Marcus' chest. In the back of his head, a rational Esca knows he shouldn't, that the strain on this leg is not good. Marcus grunts, continues to jerk his own prick. Apparently uncaring.  
  
Thrust. Uncontrolled. Mouth hanging open in desperate gasps. Balls drawing up tight, Esca can feel the heat pooling between his legs. Ready to explode. He loses his balance. Esca's hand flies from the man's hip to catch himself. Sticky palm landing on the bed. Beside Marcus' free hand.  
  
Esca doesn't see it happen, gaze failing. Just feels the tight grip around his wrist and around his prick and the heat squeezing through that point between his hips that he's only aware of as being joined to Marcus. An extension of his lover and nothing of his own. He doesn't hear anything other than his own pulse and pathetic whimper.  
  
There is nothing but heat and darkness. One shared pleasure.  
  
Slowly, Esca rises from the sated blankness. Now, he can hear. Can see. Though his eyes are hazy and his blood is still a dull roar in his ears.  
  
Marcus is still holding Esca's wrist. Clenching and relaxing with the aftershocks. The other hand still holds his cock, loosely circling, stroking and smearing. Marcus' belly and chest are spattered white. He mumbles through a goofy smile.  
  
Esca can't quite make out the older man's words, but recognizes his own name and is satisfied. Allows himself to be held in place until Marcus is ready for him to clean up or falls asleep. He gives the smile back in a smaller form and turns his face to place a lingering kiss on the side of the knee still hitched over his shoulder. Marcus makes a kissing noise in return. Then goes back to his incomprehensible mutterings.  
  
A wider smile. Affectionate exasperation.  
  
Next time... Esca is going to find a way to fuck this god AND kiss his mouth at the same time. Without looking ridiculous. Or injuring themselves.

* * *

  
**Friday Morning**  
  
The third time...  
  
Friday morning is easy. Slow and sweet and a bit hazy in the pre-dawn light.  
  
Esca wakes first, as always, about 04:30 or so. He lies half awake in the darkness for long moments, simply being aware of the overly warm body curled around him, half atop him, under the ugly printed covers. Marcus breathes deeply against his back. His dark brown arm is tight against Esca’s side, his broad hand tucked beneath Esca's chin. His hot breath just behind Esca’s ear. Enveloped. Esca smiles and falls back to sleep.  
  
He wakes up an hour later to that hot breath moving over the back of his neck. Marcus’ big hand cups over the point of his shoulder, holding. Firm, but gentle. The very essence of Marcus. Esca keeps his eyes closed, knowing he won't be able to see anything other than the pale grey outline around the heavy curtains, the vague shapes of the dresser and telly, his lighter glinting dully on the nightstand.The feel of everything happening behind his back is clearer in his head with his eyes shut.  
  
Esca makes the smallest of noises and pushes his face into the pillow, rubbing his nose against the soft cotton. He arches slightly, stretching beneath Marcus. There's a hardness pressing, hot on his backside, pushing into the muscle of one cheek.  
  
It is secondary to Marcus' warm mouth slowly kissing along his shoulders and back and the barest brush at the hairs on the nape of his neck. Esca shudders, raises onto one forearm, exhales, and turns his head. His mouth searches for chapped lips, sour morning breath.  Marcus moves his hand from Esca’s shoulder, slides it up and splays his fingers across Esca’s stubble rough face. It helps to keep the contact as Marcus wedges his other hand between Esca’s chest and the bed.  
  
Esca can hear the church bells down the street calling faintly as Marcus' hips grind against his arse. Hard flesh and coarse hair. He smiles into the kiss, breaking away slowly to brush their noses in that intimate, infantile manner that Marcus adores and Esca adores only because Marcus does. They share the same stale air until Marcus sucks lightly on the corner of Esca's lower lip and moves further down, alternating between teeth and tongue.  
  
He licks along the blue-black lines of Esca’s tattoos, biting and sucking where they meet in elegant curves and sharp angles.  Red welts rise to the surface of his pale skin.   They'll itch like hell by tonight. But Esca wants them. Needs them. To be marked, owned, desired by Marcus. Esca gives a weak moan, stretching his neck out and pushing his face into the pillow to ground himself.  
  
Marcus places a particularly hard bite on the muscle joining neck and shoulder. Esca cries into the pillow, digs his fingers into the bed sheets. A warm tongue presses gently over the sting, breath blowing over broken skin to cool it. Marcus whispers apologies and lustful compliments regarding the darkening of Esca's skin; bruised and flushed.  
  
Esca lifts his head and looks over his shoulder, watches his lover move lower to scrape his teeth across the line of Esca’s backbone, lick over the scattered freckles and moles. The arm wrapped around his chest barely moves. The hand at his cheek roughly follows the same path as Marcus' lips. Marcus touches the inked flesh, traces over the wet trails. Esca groans. The tip of Marcus’ tongue reaches  the very bottom of his spine, the very top of his crease. Esca wiggles and shifts on the bed, rubbing his cock against the sheet. He feels the swollen tip peeking out of his foreskin already drawing back as his erection grows stronger. A damp spot grows below him.  
  
Esca shivers in the humid air and spreads his thighs, goosebumps prickling his skin. His body pulls taut then falls slack at the next caress. Flex, relax. Rhythm. Already that rhythm established with the pulse of his blood, the steady thudding of his heart, stuttering breath. Esca lays his head on the pillow, heavy lidded eyes aimed at the curtained windows but unseeing. He curls one arm under his body, sliding it along Marcus' arm, finding the wide knuckled fingers and interlacing them with his own. Marcus squeezes back before letting go, pulling up and reaching over Esca toward the nightstand. Esca takes advantage of the close proximity and cranes his neck around to latch his mouth onto the strong, tan throat.  
  
Marcus smacks his knuckles on the top of the drawer, breathing suddenly rough. He jerks his hand back, swings his head around to find Esca’s cropped ear. Esca's stomach roils at the moist brush of tongue against the scarred cartilage. There's just something about the tissue that makes any contact an overwhelmingly disconcerting sensation. With anyone else, Esca wouldn't tolerate it. But it's Marcus and somewhere deep in his perverse psyche Esca enjoys the uncomfortable feeling when Marcus is the perpetrator. Makes him hard just as much as it makes him ill.  
  
Esca clamps his teeth shut to keep the sick feeling under control. Marcus doesn't do it again, but drags the flat of his tongue just behind the ear. Then he's gone with lube in one hand, other hand moving back to cup the rounded point of Esca's shoulder.  Esca lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware of holding.  He moves his left thigh higher, tilting his backside up to make it more accessible to the slick finger already probing his hole.  It lifts his hips from the bed just enough to reduce the glorious friction between cotton and flesh.  His lover’s name slips from his mouth in a pleading tone.  Then Marcus’ finger is inside him, pumping slowly and spreading the thin liquid where it’s needed and Esca’s voice falls into barely heard, obscene mumblings.  
  
Marcus doesn’t reply to his name, merely presses harder against Esca’s body.  Esca rocks slightly onto the invading digit, helping with the loosening process that he hopes will be short. Minimal at most.  He spoils Marcus with thorough, drawn out prep because Marcus takes pleasure in it. Esca enjoys the same, but he generally prefers for Marcus to take a different approach.    
  
Like caressing the side of his face. Marcus cards his fingers into Esca’s wild bed-hair, curving over the top of his head.  His palm presses against Esca’s temple in that inexplicably gentle way that does nothing to hide the strength in the touch.  Marcus settles his thumb into the notch above Esca’s ear as easily as he nestles his hips between Esca’s thighs.  Esca sighs quietly as Marcus keeps his head immobile on the pillow,  bigger frame pressing him into the mattress; his body held captive and ready.  He chews on the inside of his lower lip while Marcus rubs the slick head of his cock up and down the vulnerable crease.  Teasing for a brief moment.    
  
Marcus’ fingers twitch in Esca’s hair.  
  
Esca flinches as the blunt, rounded tip nudges  into his body.  He hears his own rough panting offset Marcus’ hoarse whispers of encouragement.  Esca swallows, loud, and manages to knock the pillow onto the floor without dragging anything from the top of the nightstand with it.  He can breathe now, or at least better than before. Marcus adjusts his hand, letting it slip further into Esca’s ash-colored hair, neatly cupped over his crown. Still holding him in place as he writhes.  
  
There’s a moment of sharp pain as the flared head finally breaches him. Esca grunts and gasps and wiggles through the brief pain, his fingers clutching at the sheet.  The burning stretch of invasion increases as Marcus continues to ease his way inside.  Esca bears down.  He opens himself up to the thickness that slides steadily forward until Marcus’ hips meet solidly with the backs of his thighs. Flesh hilted in flesh.  
  
They spend a few seconds joined together, motionless,  ragged panting in the quiet room.  Marcus moves first, his hand leaving Esca’s hair to follow his shoulder and arm and push under his lover’s chest.  Esca feels the movements and props himself up more onto his forearms.  He is distracted enough by Marcus’ voice in his damaged ear that he makes a startled yelp when something hard and slick encircles his aching prick.  Marcus’ fingers, still wet with lube, curl around Esca’s prick. No stroking. His thumb angles over the tip, pad pressing lightly into the leaking slit.  Just holding.  
  
Esca’s eyes roll back into his head before the lids shut out the dim room.  His chin dips down, practically touching his chest, forehead touching the sheet.  Mouth gaping open to allow for maximum air.  He trembles slightly, all over.  
  
Much like Marcus, he won’t beg. Instead, Esca readily accepts whatever his lover offers him, does to him.  Returning the trust shown to him by Marcus through the years.  
  
The motions begin so slowly that Esca mistakes them for his own unbalanced shifting at first. A cool breeze flutters across his backside and he suddenly realizes that Marcus has exited halfway. Esca finds the broad hand against his chest and covers it with his own callused fingers.    
  
Marcus knows him so well. He understands the gesture and complies, smoothly pushing forward, back into Esca’s willing body.  Esca tilts his hips as much as he can in his position, getting a better angle for the now steady in-and-out thrusting.  The hand on his cock remains tight and hot and maddeningly still.  Esca swears softly.  
  
Thrust and push. Grunt.  There is very little friction, slippery liquid easing the actions. But the stretch is still evident, the fullness undeniable.  The rhythm is slow. Deliberate.  
  
Esca tightens his hold on Marcus’ hand and tries to participate more in what is going on in this sloppily made bed.  He needs that hand on his cock to move before he goes crazy. But he won’t beg.    
  
Marcus is not whispering anymore, though his voice is low and hoarse and hindered by harsh breathing. Esca’s name, graphic descriptions of his body’s responses, meaningless sweet nothings spilling into the hairs at Esca’s nape.    
  
Finally-finally!- Esca feels the unsteady slide of skin on skin against his belly. Marcus is stroking him now, though certainly not as fast as Esca would like. But combined with the strong sensations at his arse it does not take long. Just a few tightly squeezing strokes before the heat pooling at the juncture of Esca’s thighs finds a burning release.  He moans pitifully into the mattress, sound muffled.    
  
Grey fades to black and flashes white on the underside of his eyelids. Esca’s entire world collapses to nothing more than his pounding pulse and the almost painful  tightness of Marcus’ embrace as Marcus loses himself moments later.  
  
They lay panting and sweaty, sated. Quiet and resigned.  Nothing is spoken that might shatter this temporary moment of peace. Of being together.  
  
Eventually, they break apart with soft disappointed sounds. Marcus lifts away and rolls out of the bed. Esca stretches out and rolls onto his side to watch his lover get dressed.  They never shower afterward, not on Friday mornings.  Both want to keep that scent on them.  The scrapes and aches and itchy dried fluids will be hidden beneath their clothes as constant reminders for the rest of the day.  
  
Marcus sits on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. Esca watches the three-quarters profile limned in bluish light from the window,  how Marcus’ eyelashes curve perfectly just above his high cheek bone. He rolls all the way onto his back, moving the other pillow under his head, and closes his eyes. He lifts his hand to scrub through wild hair. Esca lets it drop back to the bed; close enough to just graze Marcus’  hip, knuckles resting against the stiff denim.  
  
Esca feels the shifting of weight on the bed, the mattress dipping as Marcus turns and leans toward him.  A hand on his shoulder, a close-lipped kiss on his mouth, foreheads together. Esca stares at the heavily shadowed face so close to his own.  He pushes the fingers of his other hand onto the one at his shoulder, squeezing gently, memorizing the hard lines and imperfect skin under his palm.  
  
 _Love you_.  
  
And, _Love you_.  
  
Marcus leaves the bed and slowly collects his things. When his hand is on the doorknob, Esca shuts his eyes again so Marcus can look back just before he leaves.  He hears the door open, the rush of fresh, humid air and annoying birdsong.    
  
A long pause, a footstep, the swish of the door over the carpet as it closes.  
  
 **end**  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone who reads, kudos' and comments!!!


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